


Guilty Until Proven Innocent

by archangelraguhel (aspenstarlight)



Category: Common Law
Genre: Blood, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspenstarlight/pseuds/archangelraguhel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes gets severely injured, and Travis feels guilty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Until Proven Innocent

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so yeah. Why am I not surprised I ended up writing whump for this show even though only one episode aired. I regret nothing.

When Travis woke up this morning, he certainly didn’t think he’d feel sorry for calling Wes an asshole the night before, or for hiding the man’s hand sanitizer in the woman’s bathroom, or for very carefully and very deliberately dinging their new Range Rover’s car door. He didn’t think he’d feel sorry for using Alex as a threat, or for making fun of his obsession with her grass. He wasn’t one for regret. But he certainly felt it now. Because he certainly hadn’t thought he’d end up covered in his partner’s blood before the day was done, as he tried desperately to staunch the blood flow from the gunshot wound in Wes’s abdomen.

He pushed down forcefully against the wound, Wes’s suit jacket soaking up a lot of blood. But that didn’t matter because it just keep _coming_ , bubbling slickly through his fingers and smelling sweetly of pennies. There was a groan of pain, and his partner weakly stirred under his hands. Pain filled blue eyes flickered up to his, and he saw fear clouded in them along with confusion.

“Hey, no. I need you to stay awake. Wes? Hey!” He reached up slapped him gently across the face when the confusion turned to something worse. It worked well enough.

“Wh’t? ‘m tired,” Wes mumbled, hazily glaring up at him. Shock. Damn it he was already going into shock. Travis watched as the man’s face got paler as the seconds ticked by and sweat started beading his forehead. It only made him push down harder on the wound, because he had to do _something_.

“Too fucking bad. You fall asleep on me and I’ll replace your hand sanitizer with lube. Again.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“Want to-“ one of Wes’ hands latched on tight to one of his own bloody ones and his speech faltered for a second, “bet?”

“Not sure-“ Wes’ breath hitched painfully as Travis put more pressure on the wound, “-not sure it’d matter.” He looked down at his stomach and then back up at Travis with resignation in his eyes, and terror raced through him at that look.

“No. Hell no, I’m not gonna let some stupid ass gangster’s bullet kill you. The _only_ person allowed to kill you is _me_ , understand?!”

Wes dropped his head back against the wall behind him, and gave him a look that said “nice try but no cigar”. It enraged Travis. And made him feel even more helpless, a feeling he hated with a passion.

_“Where’s the bus, damn it,”_ he desperately wondered, and scrambled to try and think of something, anything, to keep Wes awake since he looked to be fading way too fast.

“Alex will kill me if I let you die. Come on man. You can’t leave me hanging like this.”

“It’s always-“ a pained grunt, and a trickle of warmth over Travis’ fingers, “-about you. In’t it?”

“Well….”

He could finally make out the sound of sirens rapidly approaching, which meant help, finally. He let out a breath of relief, but then suddenly Wes went limp under his hands, and his grip slackened on his hand, and he _panicked_.

“Wes. Wes! Damn it. Fuck. WES!”

Without thinking he slapped him, accomplishing nothing but leaving a streak of red across his pale face, Wes’ head lolling to the side.

“Shit. I’m gonna kill you if you die on me,” he said, continuing to apply pressure on the gunshot wound as he heard the sirens get louder and closer. “I’ll bring you back and then kill you myself if you die on me. And then let Alex have a go at you. Wes,” desperation entered his voice, “come on man. _Come on.”_

He jammed two fingers under Wes’ throat, feeling for a pulse, and found one. Faint, and thready, but there. But for how long? It was just _so much_ blood, and it was Wes’ blood and just so, so, so wrong. All wrong.

After that he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. But suddenly there was pounding footsteps behind him, and hands firmly tugging him away, but he didn’t want to because there was nothing keeping the blood in. Then more hands pressed on his, putting pressure on them, and he realized that the paramedics where there, trying to take over, and he was preventing them.

He let go of Wes as if he was on fire, and stumbled up to his feet, vacantly watching as the three paramedics then swarmed his partner, moving with practiced ease. Numbers and stats were spoken rapidly back and forth, something about “blood pressure falling” and “O neg” and “internal bleeding” and a sick feeling of fear crawled up his spine.

Wes could die. The annoying, self-centered, obsessive bastard could die. Was bleeding out in front of him right now, a bullet in his side because he, Travis, had been too enthusiastic and moved too soon and spooked the suspect who had a gun they didn’t know about. Wes could die _because of him._

After what seemed like forever, Wes was secured onto a backboard and they were running out of the building into the blazing light outside. He closely followed them, eyes on nothing but Wes. Pale, bleeding, unconscious. _Dying_.

“You riding along?” one of the paramedics asked as the doors to the ambulance were opened.

“What? Yeah, yeah. I’m his- I’m his partner.” 


End file.
